"Second."
"They'll hear us coming," Reed whispers.
"Good," Magnum says. "I want this over with. Quickly..."
The three of us storm up the stairs together, preparing for a bloodbath. If not a bloodbath, at the very least a mess to clean up.
It turned out to be a bloodbath like I suspected. I finished my part after five days before reporting every molecule of evidence destroyed to the big boss – at least the big boss in my neck of the woods. Technically, Southpaw is the ultra-boss. I report to Condom.
Just when I’m sending him my report of what all went down, another message chimes in on my phone. I could use the money, so I’m not angry about all the extra work. Carrying out hits in the desert out here is a lot more exciting than guarding warehouses filled with ammo out in the Middle East.
At least here, you can get yourself a home cooked meal with real steak and roasted potatoes. I fucking hate the Middle East. I had to come home because I lost two fingers on my right hand along with my eye – my pinky and my forefinger. Fucked up how it happened and I don’t remember most of it, but my buddy Weston Forbes claimed that he saw me fly thirty feet in the air.
I cracked my skull, but nothing came out and I only have a big scar on the back of my head, which covers up just fine when I grow my Blackwood blond hair out.
I would much rather be in the land of the free.
THE CULPRIT: I need you for a special job.
I respond quickly.
ZEB: How much?
I want to earn my patch, but it’s not cheap fixing your bike and keeping it tuned up enough to fly up and down Route 66 heading to club meetings and whacking people for the big boss out west.
THE CULPRIT: $5,000. It’s important. A family issue
.
A family issue? Interesting. I can’t think of any family issues that would cost around $5,000. It can’t be killing anybody, but it must be something pretty big to get that much money out of it.
ZEB: How long do you need me for?
Five grand would be pretty good for a week or two of work. Even if I have to travel, I have nothing tying or holding me down.
THE CULPRIT: One night. Club meeting.
Interesting… Five grand to handle a job at the club meeting. I wonder what it might be.
ZEB: I’m in.
Chapter Seventeen
Magnum
Ineed Damara to become my wife. I have always had simple yearnings for a wife, but never found a woman with the personality to pull it off. Damara’s presence in my house brings me a strange, instantaneous peace that I desperately want to keep. The biggest problem with that is Damara hates my guts. Her small business venture keeps her completely occupied and she cares more about being a pregnant girl boss than about satisfying my needs.
She fulfills her end of the contract. The sex we have is downright incredible. Damara’s crazy ass behavior makes her a wildcat in the bedroom and watching her pretty ass cheeks jiggle around my dick haunts me any moment I’m not within arm’s reach of her sexy pregnant body.
Unfortunately, impressing Damara is fucking impossible. I show up to the house after work carrying a bouquet of ten red roses. Every night, Damara cooks dinner even if I don’t mind ordering takeout. She calls it gross to eat out of “unfamiliar” kitchens, but apparently Wendy’s doesn’t count because she used to work at a Wendy’s in Utah.
Women.
“Honey, I’m home,” I boom as I walk through the door, expecting Damara to react to my presence and turn away from whatever the hell she’s stirring on my stovetop.
She ignores me – like she does every evening after work. Even if Damara ignores me, she doesn’t stop me from wrapping my arms around her and pressing my nose into her neck. She smells like a homecooked meal and she looks like a fucking snack.
“Magnum, you’re clinging to me.”
